Chapter Thirty: Ask Not of the Return Date

After Zhuge Xuan departed, Zhuge Liang’s gaze toward Shen Chen changed subtly. Clever as he was, Zhuge Liang was, after all, only a thirteen-year-old boy. His mind was not yet fully matured, and lacking access to information, his understanding of the world’s great affairs was limited. He knew little, even, of the strife between Yuan Shu and Liu Yao. Half a year ago, he had been sheltered in a remote valley on Mount Tai, cut off from news of the outside world. If one were to ask him now about the Longzhong Plan or the division of the realm into three, he would likely think the questioner mad and look upon them with kindly pity.

Yet Shen Chen, younger than Zhuge Liang, had just spoken eloquently before their uncle Zhuge Xuan, critiquing current affairs and discussing matters of state with remarkable insight. This made Zhuge Liang feel somewhat inadequate. Their uncle’s desire to remain in Yuzhang was not born of ambition for the high office of Prefect, but from a hope to secure a foothold for the Zhuge family amid the chaos of the times. Zhuge Liang himself could do little to help, while Shen Chen could offer practical suggestions—this made Zhuge Liang feel rather ashamed.

“Brother, is something troubling you?” Shen Chen asked, noticing Zhuge Liang’s lingering gaze.

Zhuge Liang, incapable of lying, replied frankly, “Uncle is beset by worries I cannot help resolve, yet you can. It makes me feel quite useless.”

Shen Chen laughed. “It’s not that you lack ability, brother. You simply spent your days in the mountains, unaware of the outside world. I grew up among the towns and roads, often hearing travelers discuss the affairs of the realm. Naturally, I gained some understanding from this.”

“Is that so?” Zhuge Liang still seemed doubtful.

“Of course. Have you ever heard the saying about the arrogance of Yelang? I don’t mean to compare you to them, but just as Confucius traveled the kingdoms to found his school, and Gan Ying journeyed west to grasp the vastness of earth and sky, so too must one go out to know the world. The more you see and hear, the more accurately you can judge matters. You’ve only just left home, so it’s natural you don’t yet grasp the Han’s current situation.”

“So that’s how it is…” Zhuge Liang murmured. “It seems I should not spend every day at home reading, but should go out and see the world, observe its changes, and ponder them if I am to achieve anything.”

“Exactly,” Shen Chen nodded approvingly. In ancient times, when news traveled slowly and sources were scarce, one could accomplish little great by staying home and theorizing in isolation. Shen Chen fully supported Zhuge Liang’s new resolve.

Zhuge Liang sighed. “Alas, you are leaving tomorrow. You know much of the outside world, and I wish I could always be at your side, to learn how things stand in the realm.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Shen Chen replied. “As I mentioned, the court has sent Zhu Hao to Yuzhang, and Yuan Shu won’t send troops to assist. When my uncle finishes the transition with Zhu Hao, he too will soon depart for Jingzhou. The day we meet again is not far off—at the latest, next year. If you hold me in your heart, do not ask when I’ll return.”

“Do not ask when you’ll return?” Zhuge Liang smiled. “You will wait for me in Jingzhou, won’t you?”

Shen Chen nodded earnestly. “I will wait for you, even till the end of time.”

Zhuge Liang laughed, strumming his zither, the melody now lighter and more joyful.

Shen Chen followed the notes and sang softly, “Who is parted, and pines away, ask not of the ends of the earth, nor when to return. Who could have known, when feelings shatter, only the cold and warmth within one’s heart remain.”

The music stopped abruptly. Zhuge Liang stared in surprise. “This song…”

“Did you find it interesting?” Shen Chen smiled. “Can you play along?”

Modern music uses the seven notes: do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti. The ancient zither has only five: gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu—corresponding to do, re, mi, sol, la. It lacks fa and ti, making it difficult to accompany modern melodies, even with notation. But Zhuge Liang, master musician that he was, thought for a moment and said, “Tell me the notation, and I’ll try to play it.”

Shen Chen shook his head. “I have no notation, only the tune in my mind.”

“Then sing it once for me.”

Zhuge Liang watched him curiously, for he had never heard such a song before.

“Very well,” Shen Chen took a deep breath and began:

“The thorn buried in my heart, not sought in vain, yet it remains. Sometimes silence, in the end you set me free. Deep ink cannot touch my thoughts, how can one send longing through a cold night. Sometimes silence, sometimes yearning. Who is parted, and pines away, ask not of the ends of the earth, nor when to return. Who could have known, when feelings shatter, only the cold and warmth within one’s heart remain. Who is parted, and pines away, ask not of the ends of the earth, nor when to return. Who could have known, my heart is known to none.”

His voice was clear and youthful. Though the lyrics were unfamiliar, Zhuge Liang could feel the sorrow of separation within them. He thought of his new friend, whom he had known for just over twenty days and who would soon leave; grief welled up in his heart, and he closed his eyes, beginning to play along.

At first, his playing fit the tune, but to master a new piece in so short a time was difficult, and he made several mistakes, lagging behind the melody. But his memory was sharp, and with Shen Chen’s guidance, the two worked together; in less than half an hour, they managed to perform the song “Do Not Ask When to Return.” The missing notes were ingeniously substituted by Zhuge Liang.

“This song is beautiful,” Zhuge Liang said sincerely after they finished together. “Do not ask when to return… you’re telling me not to ask when you’ll come back, for as long as I hold you in my thoughts, even the ends of the earth are not far.”

Shen Chen replied softly, “Yes. Sometimes a life is short, sometimes long. Though our time together has been brief, it feels as though even the longest days would not be enough. Partings are inevitable, but the sorrow of today is only for the joy of reunion tomorrow.”

“The sorrow of parting is for the joy of reunion?” Zhuge Liang laughed. “Your words always carry such meaning. Yes, you’re right. When we meet again, we will surely be glad. Hearing you say so, I feel a little less sad.”

“Brother, remember to see me off at the river tomorrow.”

“Of course, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll wait for you in Jingzhou. One day, we’ll sing together again.”

“Will it be ‘Do Not Ask When to Return’?”

“If we’ve reunited, why sing that again?”

“You’re right, there’s no need.”

“When we meet again, let’s study music together.”

“Agreed.”

As night fell, the world grew quiet, with only the autumn wind brushing through the courtyard, study, and bedrooms. The young Shen Chen and Zhuge Liang lay side by side on their bed, with Zhuge Jun sleeping soundly nearby. Sworn as brothers, their bond deepened further.

The next morning, Shen Chen returned early to where his clan lived in the east of the city. The merchant ships had arrived late the previous day, so only part of their goods had been loaded, and they had not set out immediately. Now, at last, the preparations were complete. The clan had been on the move since June, and now, at the end of September, after nearly three months of journeying, they could finally board the ships to Jingzhou. Spirits were high, and everyone worked with energy.

By midmorning, everything was loaded. The clan members ate a little dry food and prepared to embark. On the dock, Shen Chen and his family were ready. Zhuge Xuan came to see them off, bringing Zhuge Liang and Zhuge Jun.

“Youshuo, safe travels,” Zhuge Xuan said to Deng Hong. Though Deng Hong was no famous scholar, as a member of the Deng clan, he was worthy of respect.

Youshuo was Deng Hong’s courtesy name. Zhuge Xuan was not much older, and over time, the two had grown friendly. Deng Hong clasped his hands in farewell. “Master Prefect, farewell. If you ever come to Nanyang, be sure to visit me.”

“Then I will surely trouble you,” Zhuge Xuan replied with a smile.

“You will always be welcomed as an honored guest,” Deng Hong answered, smiling in return.

Meanwhile, Zhuge Liang and Shen Chen were speaking together. The Gan River surged on, and the autumn wind blew gently; the dock, with few merchants around, felt desolate. Only a dozen large ships waited at the riverbank. Zhuge Liang took out a small bundle and handed it to Shen Chen. “I don’t know when we’ll meet again. I asked the kitchen to boil some eggs for you to eat on the road.”

“Thank you, brother,” Shen Chen replied, feeling the still-warm eggs.

Zhuge Liang said softly, “Take care of yourself. When we meet again, I hope we can study the classics together.”

“You too, brother,” Shen Chen smiled. “But don’t always strain your mind. Sometimes, find a free day, don’t read, don’t play music, just rest—it may do you more good.”

“Achen, it’s time to go,” called his elder brother Shen Zhong from the ship’s prow. The clan was already boarding, and Deng Hong had bid farewell to Zhuge Xuan and was ready to embark.

“Brother, farewell. Flowers bloom again, people meet again—until that day.”

“Yes, until that day,” Zhuge Liang replied, clasping Shen Chen’s hand and patting it gently.

“Farewell!” Shen Chen called, smiling as he boarded and stood on deck, waving to Zhuge Liang on shore.

“My friend, let me sing for you,” Zhuge Liang shouted.

He took the jade zither from his servant, sat cross-legged on the ground, heedless of the dust, and placed his hands on the strings.

The ship rocked gently and began to move, the distance between them growing.

Shen Chen saw Zhuge Liang begin to play.

Then he sang:

“The thorn buried in my heart, not sought in vain, yet it remains. Sometimes silence, in the end you set me free. Deep ink cannot touch my thoughts, how can one send longing through a cold night. Sometimes silence, sometimes yearning. Who is parted, and pines away, ask not of the ends of the earth, nor when to return. Who could have known, when feelings shatter, only the cold and warmth within one’s heart remain. Who is parted, and pines away, ask not of the ends of the earth, nor when to return.”

He sang softly.

Bo Ya found a soulmate in Zi Qi, seeking a friend through flowing waters. In this vast world, a solitary song echoes through the ages.